A fractured fairy tale wedding.

[Richard Cranium]

By Howie Carr



So Patches Kennedy, 43-year-old "confirmed bachelor," is finally getting married.

Does anyone know yet where he's registered, CVS or Walgreen's?



The ex-solon is now a visiting fellow at Brown University's Institute for Brain Science — you can't make this stuff up. I guess the rocket-science school was full up. He is quite the scholar, of course. As Patches once put it on the floor of the House, "I myself have educated myself."

The, um, lucky lady is one Amy Petitgout, a divorced mother of a 3-year-old girl.

No word yet on whether they have any plans for children of their own, but I think if the lovebirds have a daughter, the obvious name would seem to be Mary Jo, or maybe "Marsha," after Patches' favorite Massachusetts attorney general.

Amy is a sixth-grade teacher — not a pharmacist, believe it or not.

In his statement to the press, Patches continued his family's unfortunate fascination with nautical terms, saying, "She has helped me navigate the uncharted waters of life."

Mayday! Mayday! Amy, two words for you: "Abandon ship!"

Oh sure, Teddy's son has always been known as the runt of the litter's runt of the litter. But he's got plenty of dough. So maybe Patches and his "compass" will be very happy together. But here are a few tips for the young lady before the wedding next summer on the Cape — a very dangerous time and place for Kennedy women, as Mary Jo Kopechne could tell you.

Call the landscaper and get a quote on Jersey barriers.

On a hot day, never ask for a sip of Patches' "iced tea" unless you enjoy blacking out.

Avoid all family boating activities. Avoid all family skiing activities. Learn CPR.
Never accept a ride from Willie Smith — or any of the other cousins, for that matter. Bailey's Irish Cream is not a substitute when the milk runs out and Patches won't eat his Lucky Charms.

If Patches ever returns to politics, remember that no matter what he may tell you, there are almost never any roll-call votes at 3 a.m.

Ambiens are not a generic brand of M&M's.

Get that old Gephardt for President bumper sticker off the back of Patches' Mustang — it's a cop magnet, probable cause for a stop in Rhode Island.

But most importantly, Amy, remember this: Your most important task in this marriage is not to be Patches' wife, it is to be Patches' designated driver.